


it's all fine

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Fics - Part Two [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, fix-it fic of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Prompted by anon on Tumblr:You did my HLV fix-it prompt so perfectly. I wonder if you would be up for a SiB fix it where John puts Sherlock to bed and stays with him to check on him (rather than leaving him). And when Sherlock wakes they have a discussion about Irene. John thinks Sherlock is attracted to Irene and is a masochist. Sherlock tells John he is gay and conservative in his tastes! He says being beaten or restrained is unappealing. John admits being attracted to Sherlock. Happy ending please.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Fics - Part Two [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968538
Comments: 18
Kudos: 172





	it's all fine

**Author's Note:**

> This reminded me that I've written a multi-chapter fix-it fic on this episode. You can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272261/chapters/63957166)

After helping a very clumsy, uncoordinated Sherlock up the stairs to their flat, John sat him down on the bed, removed his coat, and tipped him carefully down onto the mattress. Sherlock shoved his face between two pillows, snorted, and muttered a string of nonsense.

“Alright,” John replied with a soft laugh, patting his hip. “I’ll be just outside if you need me.” He turned to leave, but not before Sherlock shot upright like a Jack-in-the-box and caught his sleeve. John paused and looked down at him in surprise. “You okay?”

Sherlock stared up at him with an intensely earnest expression, his pupils pinpricks in his wide, glassy eyes. “Whr’goin’?” he managed to slur out, making John turn back to settle a hand on his shoulder.

“Just to the sitting room. Not far.” Despite the reassuring tone in his voice, Sherlock shook his head. The gesture made his curls bounce, and John smiled with warm affection at the endearing sight. “You want me to stay?” A nod this time, Sherlock slumping back down to the pillows with a satisfied twitch of his lips when John patted him on the shoulder and said, “Alright. Yeah, I can do that.” His tone turned stern. “But only if you get some sleep.”

His face pushed into the pillow, Sherlock nodded again and muttered something unintelligible against the fabric. Shaking his head, John looked around the room, spotted a chair in the corner, and moved it to the side of the bed. He left briefly to retrieve the book he was reading from upstairs and returned to find Sherlock snoring quietly with his mouth open, one arm flung across the mattress.

A persistent grin tugging at his lips, John settled in the chair to wait for the drugs to wear off.

* * *

Sherlock woke suddenly, sitting up and blinking in the pale light. He stared around the room with a bemused, disoriented expression on his face and pillow lines on his cheek. Wincing from his own doze in the chair, John straightened and rubbed the heaviness out of his eyelids with one hand.

“How do you feel?” he asked, catching his book when his elbow nearly knocked it to the floor. His head swivelling on his neck, Sherlock gaped at him, brow furrowed and eyes confused as he stared at John.

“You slept in that chair,” he stated, blinking hard as his frown deepened.

“Sure did.” Rising, John stretched his arms over his head with a groan. His jumper rode up with the reach, and when he dropped his hands back to his sides and looked at Sherlock, he saw Sherlock’s pale gaze dart up to his face. “You asked me to.”

Sherlock stiffened and went still like a spooked animal. His throat bobbed as he studied John for a moment before quietly asking, “Did I?”

John nodded and paced to the window, working the stiffness out of his legs. “Mhmm.”

Silence met his response. John poked at the open window, trying to remember if he’d left it open before falling asleep watching Sherlock snore. He couldn’t remember and shrugged before turning back to see Sherlock scowling at a pillow.

“How do you feel?” he asked, repeating his earlier question as he moved toward the bed.

An annoyed expression slipped over Sherlock’s face, making his lower lip push out. “Hazy,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands vigorously over his face and reddening the skin. “But better.” Looking at John, he squinted. “What did she give me?”

John shrugged. “Don’t know exactly, just said she’d used it with ‘loads of her friends.’” He shook his head, eyes darkening with a brief flicker of anger. “She’s a poor dom, drugging something without their consent.”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not like I’m one of her clients,” he pointed out, and John tilted his head in grudging agreement. “I can’t entirely blame her. I’d likely have done the same. I admire her quick thinking."

“Small comfort, that,” John muttered, earning a pointed glare before he let it go. “Of course you’d be into a dominatrix criminal,” he said with a sigh. He settled on the edge of the mattress, favouring Sherlock with a fondly exasperated look. “Leave it to you to be a masochist with bad taste in doms.”

Sherlock scoffed. An eye roll expressed his obvious disdain, and John grimaced, readying himself for biting words. “As if I’d be interested in _her,”_ Sherlock muttered, combing restless fingers through his dishevelled hair and fixing John with a sharp look. Blinking back at him, John had to admit that Sherlock looked rather adorable with his hair sticking up and his expensive clothes rumpled.

Clearing his throat, he chuckled softly and asked, “That you saying you’re not into the whole ‘chains and whips’ bit?” One dark eyebrow rose and quirked in his direction as Sherlock studied his face, his gaze appraising, searching, uncertain. John tipped his head to the side. “What?”

“While, yes, my tastes are rather conservative—being willingly struck or restrained is wholly unappealing—that is not the primary reason why Irene isn’t my type,” Sherlock spoke slowly and with evident care.

John blinked again, head still tilted. “It’s not?” At Sherlock’s head shake, he prodded a little more. “What, you don’t like brunettes?” His smile turned gently teasing. “You got a thing for blondes?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and flickered over John’s face, up to the top of his head and back down to meet his gaze again. “Something like that,” he said finally, and John sucked in a sharp breath that made Sherlock’s eyelashes flicker in response.

“Something like that?” John pressed. Usually, he wouldn’t, but there was a hesitation in Sherlock that encouraged him to pry a little deeper. He was rewarded with a calculating stare and a slight softening at the corners of Sherlock’s sharp eyes.

“Do you remember our first case?”

Frowning, John thought back over the years, squinting up at the ceiling as he searched his memories. “The cabbie?” He grinned at Sherlock. “You cured my limp.”

The edges of Sherlock’s lips twitched up, and his eyes softened further. “That I did.” His gaze dropped briefly to John’s once-impaired leg before returning to John’s face. “Do you remember our conversation at Angelo’s?”

A rush of heat told John that blood was racing into his face, and he looked away with a strained cough. “Ah, yeah,” he muttered, gripping his thigh with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I do.” How could he forget the one time he’d made a pass at Sherlock, only to be forcefully rebuffed? _Married to my work._ Yeah, that wasn’t something a bloke forgot, not when said bloke then went on to live with his rebuffer for almost two years after, pining silently all the while. “What about it?”

Sherlock watched him with an intense expression, no doubt taking in and analyzing every little tic that passed over John’s face. “Do you remember what I said?”

Studying his hands, John affected a casual shrug. “You said many things that night. You’ll have to be more specific.” He tried to raise his head and look at Sherlock despite knowing he couldn’t without Sherlock seeing all the things he kept under lock and key. Namely his unrelenting, insane-making, unrequited feelings. When Sherlock was silent, John swallowed and forced out, “Was it that you’re married to your work?” This time he succeeded in raising his eyes and found Sherlock looking at him with a contrite expression.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he said in a slow, careful voice before lifting a hand to rub thoughtfully at his bottom lip. John’s eyes followed the motion like his gaze was physically pulled by a tether, and he looked away just as quick.

“Mhmm,” he managed, throat tight. Sherlock was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, he sounded remorseful.

“I said that before I really knew you, John.” He hesitated before reaching out and touching his fingertips to John’s shoulder. The contact was light and tentative, but John jolted, all the same, looking at Sherlock with mild shock. “I couldn’t have predicted how integral you would become to The Work. To…” Sherlock paused, and his brow furrowed before he added, softer, “To me.” He met John’s eyes and held them, his expression difficult to read.

With Sherlock’s fingertips still on his shoulder, sitting light against the soft material of John’s well-worn jumper, John swallowed hard.

“I… that’s good to hear.” His voice sounded strange, and he pressed his teeth to his bottom lip in thought. “If that’s not what you meant, then what did you want me to remember from that conversation?”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Right. I meant the part before that. Where you asked if—”

“I asked if you had a girlfriend,” John interrupted, catching up with Sherlock’s train of thought. “And you said…” he paused, looking at Sherlock for confirmation. Sherlock nodded, a slight, sheepish smile on his lips.

“I said that girlfriends weren’t really my area. And they're not.” A tinge of pink rose in his cheeks, and John’s eyebrows drifted upward in surprise.

“And I asked about boyfriends and said it was fine…” he let the sentence trail off expectantly. The faint colour deepened, and John exhaled a shaky little breath as Sherlock began to fiddle with the collar of John’s jumper, avoiding his eyes.

“And I said I knew it was,” Sherlock murmured, watching his fingers play long John’s collar. “And it’s true. I _do_ know it’s fine. Because it is fine. It’s all fine.” His eyes darted to John’s face, seeming to find encouragement in John’s small smile before he looked back at his hand. His nails scratched lightly over the wool, then just past, brushing John’s neck. John shivered, watching Sherlock with an unblinking focus. He held his breath, afraid to breathe too loud and scare Sherlock away.

When Sherlock didn’t speak for a long spell, John whispered, “I meant it. It _is_ all fine.”

“People aren’t really my area, John,” Sherlock said, speaking as if he hadn’t heard. Instead of feeling snubbed, John hung on his every word, silently urging Sherlock to keep talking. He did, and John sucked in a needed breath as his lungs began to ache. “Work is easier. Even when it’s hard, even when I’m stuck or hurt or lost, The Work makes far more sense to me than much of what people do.” His eyes rose, found John’s, and held. “I’m gay, John. Gay, conservative in my sexual tastes, _horribly_ out of practice in the area, to be honest, and a little too obsessed with criminals. And, maybe…” Colour rose in his cheeks again as his eyes danced up to John’s greying hair and away, his bottom lip catching between his teeth in an almost coy smile. "Blondes, also.”

John’s breath stopped, stuttered, and wheezed out. “Oh,” he whispered, staring hard at Sherlock’s averted face. Fingers still twitched against his neck, slipping slyly into the hair at John’s nape. “You _mad bastard.”_ The words rushed out in another exhale, soft and fond, and John lifted a hand to cover the touch at his neck, turning it from tentative to tangible. “Given that it’s obvious, I probably don’t need to say it, then, do I?”

Tilting his head toward John, pink still tinting his cheeks, Sherlock said in a strained voice, “I think you should say it anyway. Just to be sure.”

A grin curling his lips, John leaned forward, relishing the hitch in Sherlock’s breathing, and how it morphed into a rough sound as his eyes dropped to Sherlock’s mouth. “You, Sherlock Holmes, are _very much_ my area.” His gaze flickered up to Sherlock’s, caught the eager, anticipatory expression on his face, and fell back to his target. “And I’m _certainly_ not married to my work.” With the words hanging in the air between them, John closed the remaining distance and found Sherlock’s mouth. He felt Sherlock’s soft exhale against his lips, then his smile, and John's grin widened before his tongue flicked over the seam of Sherlock’s lips. He gained entrance almost immediately, not even caring that Sherlock had morning breath and that his own mouth tasted like cotton.

For a first kiss, it was just fine— _all fine._ Far better than fine.

Curling his fingers in Sherlock’s adorably mussed curls, John deepened the kiss and hummed at Sherlock’s soft noises of approval. Morning breath or no, John wasn’t worried. If Sherlock’s eager hands on his face were any indication, there would be many more opportunities. 


End file.
